BaronAndEnchantress_PGolden-eBooks

by Golden, Paullett

  If she were to step foot into drawing rooms, ballrooms, and libraries, she refused to blunder about like a rusticated orphan, pouring milk when she ought to pour tea, curtsying when she ought to nod, rejecting a dance request when her card was empty, using surnames when she should use given names, remarking on politics when she ought to ask after the weather, and whatever other horrors lurked in the ridiculous rules of fashionable society.

  With each day of silliness, she reminded herself it was all for a greater cause. She was not doing this for herself. This was not because she wanted to be part of that world. This was for the women and children she could help if she used the identity her mother had given her. Not her birth mother, but Jane Lancaster, the only mother she had ever known, the mother who raised Lilith as her own, introduced her to the beau monde as her daughter, and prepared her for a world of privilege.

  If Lilith were to face the unknown, it would be on her own terms.

  That evening, as Hannah brushed her hair, Lilith said with bold determination, “How handy are you with shears?”

  In the mirror, Lilith saw the lady’s maid’s eyes widen. “You can’t possibly want to cut your hair, my lady.”

  Though Lilith cringed when Hannah referred to her as my lady, she did not correct her.

  By ruled measure, Lilith was learning her place and theirs. It pained her to be waited on when she could do things herself, but as she had learned after a long talk with Hannah the day the maid arrived from the castle to Roddam Hall, the staff took great pride in their workmanship, and with it came a set of rules of its own to which she must abide to show respect to her employees. Hannah’s calling her by her first name, no matter how friendly they were to each other, was disrespectful on both their parts.

  Staring back at Hannah’s reflection, Lilith said, “How short is fashionable?”

  “Too short,” said the lady’s maid, fanning Lilith’s hair about her shoulders.

  “Well, let’s not go too short, then. Short enough to be attractively styled. You’ll know what to do. Cut it.”

  Hannah pulled her upper lip between her teeth, a crease forming between her brows. “You’ll wake up tomorrow, hate it, and send me back to the castle to be a parlor maid.”

  Lilith laughed.

  Admiring her hair in the mirror, all weighty, fifty feet of it, she said, “I won’t hate it. I’ll love it. I already do, and you’ve not cut it yet. Chop it off, Hannah. Just below the shoulders. I want to feel light, free, and unburdened. A new look for the new me.”

  Heaving a sigh, the girl went for the shears.

  Lilith squeezed shut her eyes at the sound of the snip, snip, snip. With each snip, she felt lighter. Why she had not done this sooner, she could not say.

  When Hannah finished, Lilith peeked an eye open to see the damage. The result was more startling than expected. She choked back a sob.

  Hannah’s hands flew to her mouth, misinterpreting her mistress’ weeping.

  Oh, Lilith loved it. She did. Truly. She saw the memory of the staid Miss Lilith Chambers scattered on the floor around her, a woman who served her well for most of her life, a shield against her true self, a protective armor that had fought through the confines of her orphaned state, enfolded the frightened child abandoned by her family, glanced off the ridicule of the upper classes, and forged a life of respect. That woman was no longer needed. Now, she was Lady Lilith Lancaster, daughter of Tobias and Jane Lancaster, the Earl and Countess of Roddam, sister to the current Earl of Roddam.

  And, by Jove, Lady Lilith had fashionably short hair. Well, close to short. Shorter at any rate.

  She smiled at Hannah. “Well done. Oh, well done.”

  By putting aside her selfish stubbornness, she would help women and children across the country. There was much to be done, but it all began with the creation of a lady. As a lady, there was no end to what she could accomplish.

  She was not even daunted by a certain aunt she would soon need to contend with, for her Aunt Catherine was the only impediment between her and claiming herself legitimate. She was not daunted because living at Roddam Hall had taught her not to underestimate ingenuity, determination, and aspiration.

  There was a sense of home here, a familiarity. She truly felt herself, which was a strange admission.

  Leaving Allshire had been difficult, far more difficult than it should have been. Hours she had spent standing in her garden, lovingly touching the stone of the cottage, the dirt where Walter planted the bulbs she would not see bloom, the herbs she would not harvest in the spring. She had wept to leave it all behind. She visited everyone she knew well to wish them farewell, silently assuring them there were no hard feelings for whatever rumors they might have helped spread.

  Her last stop before she, Harriette, and Jasper stepped into the carriage Sebastian had sent from Roddam Hall was to the rectory. The Sands had not known she was leaving, and she was unsure they would receive her. But they did. Grudgingly.

  They met her together in the small front parlor of the rectory, both with noses raised and eyes focused somewhere beyond her. When she announced her departure, though she did not admit to where, they had been shocked. Harry said it was for the best since a vicar was soon to be appointed, and the man needed the cottage for his mother-in-law. They were delighted about the vicar for Harry would be busy with family duties soon, namely the rearing of his child.

  It had been Lilith’s turn to be shocked. Miss Tolkey, or rather Mrs. Sands, was already expecting? Not that it should be so surprising, but goodness! Lilith had known couples who spent years waiting for happy news. How fortunate for them, Lilith thought, not without a touch of humor that had she accepted Harry’s advances, she might herself be sitting in the same parlor expecting a happy event.

  Had she never met Walter, she might have relented. She would have seen marriage to Harry as her means to staying in Allshire and living a predictable and secure life. It was fortuitous she had said no. Not that she would think of Walter or what they had shared while sitting in the home of a clergyman, but the very niggle of that thought had her happy she had shared nothing romantic with Harry aside from a closed-lipped kiss.

  On her way out, she thanked him for his kindness and all he had done to aid her over the years. She foisted her affections on Mrs. Sands, as well, kissing her cheek and wishing her all the happiness in the world. She meant it. Not for a moment did she blame the girl for thinking ill of Lilith when Mrs. Sands was an innocent, blissfully unaware of the sins of the world. If she continued as midwife, she would see far more than she wanted. Lilith hoped the evils of the world did not break the girl’s spirit.

  It could be argued by some residents that Lilith left because the villagers pushed her out, her and her sinful ways. The truth was far different. She realized her own potential and no longer feared the unknown.

  Seeing society’s hypocrisy spurred her to face the future and create her own happiness. For so many years, she had hated the gentry and aristocracy alike for their treatment of people, but the villagers had been no different. A parish of God-loving people, and yet they had turned their head at the merest whisper of gossip.

  Her hatred had been misplaced. There were good people and not so good people, all mingled together in every class. And in each class, there were people with hearts of gold, people like Walter, people like his mother Hazel, people like the Turnbows and the Brightons. How ashamed she was to remember holding Walter’s status against him when it was her own people who had shunned her in the end.

  As the carriage jolted forward on its way to Roddam Hall, she had waved to Mrs. Copeland and Mrs. Elliot, the children gathered around them, all waving back tearfully. She had also waved to the milliner and her husband, the innkeepers, the Turnbows, and anyone else she saw in the street. They had all waved back.

  It was not easy, though it ought to be. Who would not dream of discovering they could live as arist
ocracy?

  Lilith never dreamed of such a life, at least not after she arrived at the orphanage as a distraught and frightened eight-year-old girl. Such a life was full of burdens, rules, and an ever-present audience, if not from peers then from servants.

  It was not so easy to leave behind one world and enter another, the new world full of more rules than freedoms. She had to accustom herself to living with an audience, for she was never alone, not even when she bathed. Much of her time was not her own either. She now oversaw the hall and all who resided there in addition to spending long hours working on her plan. The worries of before had not subsided, worries of being discovered as an imposter, ridiculed for her humble youth, censured for her years of employment, and ostracized for the path she now chose which would not invite the same sort of scandal as being a midwife, but it was not the sort of endeavor a lady ought to pursue.

  To make it all possible, she had to swallow against the nagging voice that she was not worthy and keep herself busy with the preparations for all she had planned.

  The most exciting day so far had been the modiste’s visit. Her frugal nature and desire not to waste her brother’s money had held her back from purchasing all the dresses and accessories someone of her station would have, but she arranged for the most essential. There was a pulse of energy she had never experienced at being pinned and poked and measured by the modiste and assistants. These were not to be any dresses, after all. These were to be hand-fitted to her frame, designed and sewn for her and her alone.

  Not since she was a child had she undergone such a fitting. Even the enthusiasm with which she had purchased the dress this summer could not compare.

  The modiste knew her trade well. Lilith had limited opinion in colors, patterns, fabrics, and styles, leaving all to the expertise of the dressmaker. She did, however, insist all choices be as simple as fashion allowed. Wearing a tailor-made dress was one thing, but she refused to be trussed with frills and jewels. The modiste had smiled at this request and flattered Lilith with such statements as assuring her ladyship she need no adornments to distract from her handsomeness.

  What might have been taken as false flattery was proven true when Lilith surveyed her reflection in an understated day dress that enhanced her smallish bosom in shockingly pleasant ways. Even her too-wide hips appeared enticingly sensual in the cut of the high-waisted dress. No fashion of bygone days. No store-bought cut. No inferior stitching sewn by Lilith herself. Lilith hugged her arms about her torso and smiled.

  What would Walter say when he saw her?

  Her smile faded. Foolish thought. She had let him go, had she not? He may already be in pursuit of a wife, someone youthful. She could not think of that now.

  Two months into her time at Roddam Hall, she sat on the icy ground, a blanket between her and the thin layer of snow, staring at Jane Lancaster’s grave. Jasper was running amuck in the graveyard, sniffing out every hidden smell buried beneath snow.

  “I’m sorry for doubting you,” Lilith said. “I should have known you would never have abandoned me. I was naught but a child, alone and confused. Forgive me for thinking ill of you, believing you sent me away. Forgive me for thinking you were angry because I had done wrong. Forgive me for taking so long to return to you. It’s been a confusing year. A confusing few decades, really.”

  She dipped her woolen-clad fingers into the snow, tracing her mother’s name.

  “You were the only mother I knew. But when I was taken to live somewhere else, I thought you didn’t want me. I made the best of my new life until Sebastian found me. It all changed again. Not only did I learn you had died and not been the one to send me away, but that you weren’t my birth mother. What was I to do with my memories? Well, I’m here now. I’m becoming the daughter you intended me to be. Family is not about blood but about those who love and support you through thick and thin. Though I was not of your flesh and blood, you loved me as your own. I promise to make you proud.”

  Jasper pranced through the snow, leaving dog prints in his wake, and came to nuzzle against her on the blanket.

  “Isn’t it funny, Jasper, how for so long, I thought those who were supposed to love me had abandoned me, when in truth, my birth mother saved my life and would have kept me had she not become ill, and my other mother had no part in sending me away? It was only my father. He was the only one who abandoned me. And yet, the more I think about it, the more I believe he did it to save me, as well. Perhaps he loved me so much he wanted to protect me from himself. I was safe from his mad wrath. It’s funny how nothing is ever what it seems.”

  She pulled Jasper half on her lap for a hug. Pressing her nose into his fur, she sighed, happy.

  “We’re going to funnel their love to help others, aren’t we? By living the life my mother Jane intended me to live, we’ll help people like my birth mother. Oh, I do forgive her for her unmarried passion. I understand now what it is to love but feel inferior. We’ll make her proud, too.”

  The tender moment was lost on Jasper. He whined and struggled against her, wanting to play chase rather than snuggle.

  With flushed cheeks and a breathless pant, Lilith chased Jasper through the front door of Roddam Hall, the frosty air biting exposed skin. The pup was generously covered with snow after catching rather than dodging the soft snowballs Lilith had thrown. His lolling tongue denoted his satisfaction with the afternoon.

  Racing past the butler to his personal footman—could a dog be said to have a valet? If so, young Frederick held that honor—Jasper led the man to the kitchen, eager for water, a treat, and quality time with Milli.

  Lilith, still laughing, proceeded to peel off her wool gloves until the butler fixed her gaze. Ah, yes. Dutifully, she relaxed and allowed him to remove her coat, hat, and scarf. How odd it was to have someone remove such articles.

  “There’s a visitor in the Great Hall, m’lady,” Mr. Sims said.

  “A visitor? Who would visit me?” she asked absently.

  “A Mrs. Putnam,” he said.

  The name did not sound familiar, she thought, walking in the direction of the room.

  Before she made it far, the butler cleared his throat.

  She looked back at him, brows raised, then stepped back to glance in the vestibule mirror. Oh dear. She looked frightful. Her hair was mussed and her cheeks pink. Looking once more to the butler, she shrugged and laughed.

  With a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, Mr. Sims approached. “If you’ll allow me, m’lady.” And without another word, he reached over to pin up a few of her fallen curls.

  Had she been anyone else, Lilith might have kept the visitor waiting while she returned to her room so Hannah could change her dress, fix her hair, and lighten her flush. But she was not someone else. She was Lilith. And so, she proceeded straight to the Great Hall to greet her guest. At least the dress was new and ever so lovely.

  As soon as Lilith entered the room, the visitor stood, clasping a hand to her bosom.

  “It is you!” exclaimed the woman.

  Lilith stared before joining her by the hearth. The woman did not look familiar. Mid-fifties, fashionably dressed, tufts of silver hair peeking out from under a turquoise turban, a matching winter dress snug around a generous figure. The lady’s eyes smiled though her mouth maintained a perpetual pout.

  Approaching, Lilith smiled, although she was unsure if smiling was bad etiquette—she would need to consult her instructor.

  “You’ve grown since I last saw you, but I’d know you anywhere, Lady Lilith. No need to look flustered. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. I’m one of your neighbors. Mrs. Angela Putnam.”

  Stopping herself from curtseying, only just, she nodded in greeting then turned to stoke the fire.

  Oh dear. Not until she reached for the poker did she realize her mistake. With a swift pivot, she ran her hand along the mantel and turned to her guest, posing as though she h
ad intended to stand just so. The fire did not need stoking anyway.

  “I’m delighted you’ve called on me, Mrs. Putnam. Allow me to ring for tea.”

  As the words slipped out, the door opened, and the butler carried in a tray, anticipating Lilith’s hospitality. Taking the opportunity to return to her seat, she waved a hand for Mrs. Putnam to sit.

  Once the door closed, she reached for the milk to prepare the cups. Again, she caught herself.

  No, no, no.

  Tea first, the instructor had taught her. After a lifetime of pouring milk first, this would be a difficult habit to break. As the instructor explained, brittle cups, such as the ones Lilith had owned, crack if first poured with boiling tea. This was not the case with the finer teacups. A declaration of status and wealth was the pouring of tea first.

  Lilith thought it was the silliest thing she had ever heard. While she had not paid attention to her mother’s tea pouring habits, she really did believe Jane had poured the milk first. But no matter.

  Replacing the milk for tea, she poured the tea first. Mrs. Putnam likely did not care or notice, but Lilith would do this all correctly if it killed her. Her first visitor!

  “Perhaps you’ll better remember my daughters who are about your age,” Mrs. Putnam said, accepting graciously her teacup.

  Mmm. The warmth of the tea spread through Lilith’s limbs. She had not realized how chilled she was from the outdoors.

  “Sharon and Sadie. I brought them nearly every time I called on your mother.”

  Lilith could not recall playing with any children other than her brother, but she supposed she must have. It would have been peculiar if she had not.

  Shaking her head, Lilith said, “I’m afraid it’s been a terribly long time, Mrs. Putnam. Are they well?”